He Needs You
by starryeyed10
Summary: He was high. He knew she saw his track marks and the bruise from the needle, even the abrasion from the tourniquet. He didn't know what to do next, and it scared him. He was half hoping Mycroft would barge through the door with Mrs Hudson on his heels and start yelling at him for ruining whatever trip their parents were on. Half hoped. Sherlock/OC
1. Chapter 1

Mycroft called Emma. He needed something that would shock his brother. Using his roommate, landlord, that police officer, or even the hospital lab worker that he couldn't remember the name of if he tried, wasn't going to work this time.

"What do I owe this pleasure, it isn't my Birthday Mikey." He could hear her shoes pounding the gravel as she walked.

"It's not me." He gave a long pause, "He needs you." Her steps slowed, just for a moment, then returned to her previous pace and cadence.

"Tell me where."  
_

Sherlock didn't have friends growing up. Correction, he didn't have many friends. He went to school with kids his age, but got frustrated fast. He never let them use their imagination while playing, everything had to be concrete and truthful. He went to school. Walked home. Then went to his room. Alone.

His parents did their best to engage him, and were sometimes lucky with their results. They would get a smile or see excitement in his eyes when solving a puzzle or learning a new game with them. But this didn't last long, he would be back in his room, reading and performing 'experiments' again. Alone.

As much as his parents and brother wanted to admit, this didn't change much when Emma moved in not far from their country home. She was a bright and happy young girl, a year younger than Sherlock. They would see her running around and picking flowers in her front yard. Multiple times Sherlock's parents would pull him outside for some 'fresh air', just hoping for the chance that this young neighbor would have the patience for their son. Sherlock paid no attention.  
_

Emma knocked on the door at 221B, Mrs Hudson opened the door, "Is Mr. Holmes available?"

"He should be, do come in and I'll check for you. May I take your coat?"

"Not yet thank you, still a bit chilled." She gave a warm smile to the older woman, "I'm actually an old friend of Sherlock, he doesn't know that I'm surprising him today."

Mrs Hudson gave a happy shrug of her shoulders, "That should be just the thing to get him out of this mood of his! Come along! I haven't been able to get him to eat for days, won't even let me past the door most of the time. His friend John is away for a few weeks with his new wife and poor Sherlock just sits up there all day." They walked up the stairs, Emma, careful to disguise even her footsteps so Sherlock wouldn't be tipped off too soon.

They reached the door and Mrs Hudson gave a quick rap of her knuckles while calling his name, "Sherlock! Are you decent?"

She didn't wait for him to answer and walked into the flat.

Emma saw him in his chair, which was turned from the doorway, "Oh Sherlock, I do wish you would let me tidy a few things. This is becoming such a problem." Mrs. Hudson tutted.

Emma didn't move, barely breathed. The flat wasn't dirty, just disorganized. Papers all over the floor, his violin on the table but the bow on the mantle. She took a step in and Sherlock quickly moved his head to the left, just before looking over his shoulder, "Who is with you Mrs Hudson, I told you I wasn't taking clients."

Mrs Hudson didn't say anything, just smiled at Emma and motioned with her head towards the man.

"You should have called me."

He froze. The drumming of his fingers on the armchair paused in the air mid beat.

She didn't wait for a reply. She started undoing her coat and stepped lightly over to him. His dressing down sleeves were rolled up to his elbows on both sides. She saw 3 nicotine patches on his right arm, and a red mark encircling his left arm close to the joint, with a hint of a bruise. She was standing behind him looking down. He slowly faced forward and got up from his chair, turning to look at Mrs Hudson, ignoring Emma. "Is there something you needed Mrs Hudson? Or if this just another of your 'check ins'? I told you, I am doing nothing of circumstance and wish to be alone." He took a few long strides from his chair and into the kitchen.

"Oh Sherlock, you don't even saw hello to your friend! She did come to see you after all, you can be quite rude sometimes you... "

Sherlock rushed to Mrs Hudson and held onto her shoulders, "Sherlock stop it!" She protested.

"Mrs Hudson look at me! You can see a woman here? Right here in this flat, right now?" His eyes were wide, he wasn't at the point of yelling, but his voice was reaching that level quickly.

"Oh of course Sherlock, do let go!" He dropped his hands and remained in place.

"Thank you Mrs Hudson, Sherlock and I have it from here." Emma's eyes were furrowed, and she consciously didn't tilt her head to the side, she knew he hated that. Mrs Hudson smiled at her and then frowned at Sherlock before closing the door after her. Emma finished taking off her coat and placed it on the arm of his chair. She continued to look around the flat, the kitchen looked the worst, glasses everywhere and dust covering the sink. Finally, she folded her arms, "Sherlock." She said it, and waited. She watched as his shoulders dropped slightly, and he gave his head a shake as to clear it. It was several minutes before he turned to look at her. She felt him study her from her feet to her chest, not looking at her face. She stood still.

"Mycroft?" He asked quietly, his eyes looking anywhere but her face.

"Yes." She was debating whether to walk to him, or let him have space, "He was worried, now I'm worried." She crossed her arms a bit tighter, "He doesn't know that you are using again."

Sherlock finally looked at her, actually looked into her eyes and took a step. She could see every emotion he had been holding back cross his delicate face, annoyance, guilt, exhaustion, and wonder.

She left him there and walked through the kitchen and into his room. The bed wasn't made, he had a pile of unwashed clothes at the foot of his closet. She went to the far side of his bed, into the trick drawer on the side of the night stand and pulled a small bag of white powder from it. She closed it and stepped around the bed again and through the door. Sherlock was standing at the far side of the table watching her. She didn't acknowledge him, just opened the bag and filled it with water before spilling it down the drain and washing it out well. She placed the bag in the bin and turned to lean against the sink with her back. She didn't cross her arms, she didn't yell, she didn't say anything, she just stared ahead at the wall between the washroom and his bedroom.

Again, minutes passed. Every scenario Sherlock could anticipate was running through his head, but inefficiently. He was high. He knew she knew it. He knew she saw his track marks and the bruise from the needle, even the abrasion from the tourniquet. He didn't know what to do next, and it scared him. He was half hoping Mycroft would barge through the door with Mrs Hudson on his heels and start yelling at him for ruining whatever trip their parents were on or going to be on next. Half hoped.

Instead he walked over to her and stood before her, chests barely touching, barely breathing. His hands still in the pockets of his dressing gown, hers placed on either side of her on the counter she was leaning on. He took a breath. He kept taking deep breaths, filling his lungs with her, trying to soak up any piece of her available. Her head came up to just past his shoulder. During this entire exchange she hadn't moved, till now. She slowly turned her face into the crook of his neck to rest her forehead on his left shoulder, and he melted. His head dropped onto her and he leaned heavily into her. She pushed her head harder into him and he snaked his arms around her back. They stood there, unmoving. Finally he felt her shift. She ran her hands up his chest, along either side of his neck and her fingers found their way through his hair. Her short fingernails gliding along his scalp. She felt his entire body relax as he pulled her impossibly closer, "Emma." He breathed, "I don't..."

"Stop," she ordered him, "Not now. Don't say anything, not while you're high."

He pushed his head painfully into her neck, she felt him wince hard against her skin.

"Have you slept? Mrs Hudson said you haven't been eating or talking to anyone. Sherlock, have you slept?"

"I can't" he sighed, "I tried." He knew what was coming next. He knew she would pull away and walk him to his room. She may even take off his dressing gown and push him into bed, promising not to leave but also not to speak until he slept off his high. He didn't want that, he didn't want to let go. His legs were screaming, his head was dizzy and out of focus, his heart was racing, but he knew that if she let go he would fall apart.

She didn't respond to him but shifted slightly against the counter, "No, please" he whispered, "Just a moment longer."

He honestly thought he had finally gotten high enough to hallucinate her.

He didn't think she was actually there at first. Mrs Hudson didn't give any indication that she knew Emma was in the room when they walked in, he really wanted Mrs Hudson out so he could enjoy and explore his hallucinated Emma, he knew he wouldn't have much time with her. But he was wrong. She was in his arms, her head against his chest breathing into his neck with her arms around his neck and her hand still in his hair at the base of his head. He could hear her heart, feel her lips brushing against his skin, and hear the worry in her voice. She was here. With him. He wasn't alone.

She moved again, he let her but still kept his arms locked surrounding her. She placed one of her hands under his chin and lifted it slightly to look at him. He opened his eyes and searched hers frantically, his breathing quickened, but she stayed calm. Her eyes were big and focused on his, "I'm not leaving, but I've just been traveling for hours and I need to use the loo or I am positive I will explode Sherlock." His name, she said his name again. She smiled up at him, "Go sit in your room, I'll be there once I wash up." Neither of them moved quickly. She slowly disentangled from the embrace and pecked him on his cheek, "Go on, I'll be just a minute." She stepped around him to the door, looking over her shoulder, "Sherlock." He turned and made his way to his room, keeping the lights off as he went.

He sat on the side of his bed. The thought crossed that maybe he hallucinated both Mrs Hudson and Emma and he was actually alone. He heard the water running in the sink and her footsteps on their way to him. If this is a hallucination, he thought as she walked through the door, I need to stay high enough for it to never end. He knew there was still some left. His skull held a bag and above the doorframe in the bathroom yet another.

She walked up to him, standing between his legs. His hands went to hold her behind both thighs while her hands held his face, "Sherlock, let's sleep and talk tomorrow." He didn't disagree. She stepped back to undo her jeans and pull them off, then reached to take off her sweater. She stood in her underwear and tank top and climbed past him onto the bed. He felt her pulling the covers back and slipping into them on her side. He wanted this to be real.

He stood to remove his dressing gown and slipped under the covers with her. She turned to him, "I found the bag above the door. I'm sure there are others, just please not tonight."

He turned to his left to look at her and cupped her face, "Not tonight." She smiled, it made him smile. He didn't think he would fall asleep tonight. He hadn't actually fallen asleep for a few days, just quick naps were currently keeping him alive, along with the cracker packets and other random foods he had laying around in the kitchen.

They laid there, not moving not talking.

Sherlock couldn't understand why she was there. He hadn't called her, he never called her. Mycroft didn't know he was using again, he always returned his calls as to not prompt an unwelcome visit. But still, his brother called her and she came. He felt her shift. Her eyes were still open, staring at him. She moved herself closer to him, laying on her right side with her hand supporting her head. He slipped his left arm under the space she made under her arm and hooked it around her to pull her closer. She rested her left hand on his chest and lifted her bent knee to rest it on his leg, her other leg was flush to his. He closed his eyes and she curled into him, letting her head fall to their pillow and his hand run up and down against the skin behind his neck. He fell asleep. A deep sleep that even he wasn't anticipating.  
_

His parents didn't really know when Sherlock and Emma became friends. One day they were looking out at the garden, making sure Sherlock didn't get carried away and walk off into the woods alone, when they saw Emma laying in the grass beside him. He was sitting on the ground with a book in his lap, just staring at her. Emma's eyes were closed but she she was talking, a lot. Sherlock never once interrupted or added comment, he didn't get flustered or try to get away from her, he didn't shoo her away or ignore her. He just sat, and stared.

His mother wanted to open the window and hear what was going on, her husband, thinking that any sound might set Sherlock off and change the mood of the moment, steadied her hand. For weeks they were hoping for this, and it finally came true.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft sat in his chair beside the fireplace, gazing into the smoldering embers. Sherlock had just hung up the phone with him. He knew something was wrong. He felt it when Irene Adler had fallen out of the picture. He knew Sherlock cared for her more than just another client. He had kept in touch with her for months after the case had finished. But Sherlock rebuffed her advances, much to both Irene and Mycroft's surprise. Mycroft thought that she might be the one to break through the wall Sherlock had carefully constructed.

Mycroft swirled the ice in his glass. Before, there was Emma.

She had lived not too far from the Holmes' residence when he was about 14. She wasn't afraid of anything. She wasn't intimidated by the way Sherlock would stare or correct her. She didn't shy away when he invaded her personal space just to see if she would get uncomfortable. That's not to say that she took it all lying down either. Sherlock would do something to piss her off and she would put him in his place. Early in their relationship, it would be yelling or pushing at him to leave. As they got older, she would ignore him which was much more effective. Sherlock wasn't talkative, but when he knew he was being ignored he couldn't shut up. He would talk just to talk, dictate everything he was doing, and she would carry on as if he didn't exist.

She had left for work, or so she told Mycroft. She had trained with the military intelligence unit and was getting called up. Sherlock had no choice but to believe her. Mycroft knew better, after searching her charts he found that she had asked to be deployed. She had asked to be taken out of the 'Sherlock Equation'. Mycroft respected her choice although he didn't understand it. He didn't like not understanding something.

She left.

Life seemed to go on just as it had been. Mycroft would stop by Sherlock's flat unannounced, have tea, irritate him, and dismiss himself. A few months after Emma left, Sherlock started closing off to the world. He stopped changing out of his dressing gown, went for days without eating a proper meal, then it happened. Mycroft was called about a John Doe found in a crack den that fit the description of his brother. He hadn't reported him missing, but those that worked for Mycroft (not with him) knew what was going on behind the scenes.

The first thing Sherlock did was ask him not to call her. He pleaded with his brother, his eyes never leaving his older brothers as he fought through his haze. Sherlock knew that if himself or Mycroft called, she would come. She would support him, take care of him, and then she would leave. He didn't want her to see him like this. He didn't want her to see him so weak. Had Mycroft called her while he was still using he would have welcomed it, but coming off of it was going to be messy. He wouldn't be able to stand having her so near while coming down from his binge. He didn't want to watch her leave again.

Mycroft didn't call her then. He didn't call her when Sherlock was back in his flat. He didn't call the nights he stayed up worrying about his brother.

She didn't call either.

Mycroft knew she was running. The night she told him she was leaving he didn't quite believe it. She drank a ridiculous amount of tea and got up to leave when she looked back at him, "You are all he has Mycroft, all he will let in. Don't let him down." She shrugged on her coat and fastened it, "He could only let me get so far. But I can't do this anymore. I'm not strong enough."

And she was gone.

Mycroft saw her only once since she left. She had put him down as her emergency contact. He got the call that she had been shot. The speaker had also asked him not to call Sherlock, as per the 'patient's request'.

He got on a plane and was at her side within the day. As he walked into her room his breath caught, it took a lot to do that to a man like Mycroft. She was thin. Bruises laced themselves beneath her eyes and littered her cheeks. She was sitting in a chair by the window with her eyes closed and an IV in her right arm. She smiled when she realized he was in the room, "Hey Mikey. You didn't have to come."

"Please let me call him, let me get him here." He stood straight, holding is walking stick beside him. "Emma, it will kill him not being here." He said all of this without looking at her, in his 'business voice' she would call it.

"Not if he doesn't know. Mycroft I'm fine. They kept insisting on calling my emergency but I don't see why." She weakly brushed her hair off her shoulder, "It isn't like I'm on the verge of dying."

"Emmaline Montgomery, I have had people die in front of me that looked more alive than you are now." He held himself back from hitting his walking stick on the ground for emphasis.

"Don't." Mycroft paused from retrieving his phone from his breast pocket, "He can't handle this Mycroft, and I am not strong enough to keep him together right now."

"He has grown up you know, I even thought he might've fallen in love." He studied her face now, during his confession. Her eyes were closed again, and she continued to smile, "Is she pretty?" She gave a short laugh, "Does she keep him on his toes? We both know that's what he needs or else he'll just get bored."

"He didn't get bored of you. You got bored of him."

"Oh please Mycroft!" She made to stand, couldn't, had to catch herself, then resigned to slowly getting herself vertical, "I could never be bored of him you daft monkey, I love him and you know that. He couldn't deal with it." She was seething. Her adrenaline was primed from her time in captivity and she was just barely tapping into it, "I told him. I told Sherlock Holmes that I was in love with him and he couldn't get his head around it. I tried for months to live like it never happened, like he wanted, but I couldn't in the end. I had to get out." She pulled her IV stand over to the bed and sat on the edge with her back to the man in the doorway.

"You told him." It wasn't a question. He slowly walked around the bed and stood at the window with his back to her, "He never told me that."

After spending the day with her and being convinced by the doctors that she was going to be ok, he asked her to come home. She was snuggled up in her bed, pillows and blankets covering about every inch of her. She sighed, but stayed silent.

"Please think about it." He hesitantly brushed his lips against her temple and strode out the door.

A single tear tracked its way down her bruises and under the covers.

She wasn't strong enough. Not yet.

The drink in Mycroft's hand was melting, the clock chimed, and the embers finally wore themselves out. He picked up his phone from the side table and scrolled through his contacts, pausing at Emma. Was he sure Sherlock was falling apart? As Emma had said, he was the closest thing Sherlock had. But he stopped, surely he now also had John Watson, and even Watson's wife. But something was still nagging in his head.

He called her, "What do I owe this pleasure, it isn't my Birthday Mikey."

"It's not me."

Long pause, "He needs you."


	3. Chapter 3

He slowly woke up slightly disoriented. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry and sticky. He realized that he was laying on someone. On someone? He opened his eyes to realize that he was essentially in the position that Emma started in the night before. He arms were encircling her with his head against her neck. His right leg was thrown across her hips. He felt her give a slight laugh, "Morning handsome."

He looked up at her smiling eyes and involuntarily grinned before shifting himself off of her. She stretched and pulled the covers up over her, without his body warmth she was getting chilled. They laid in silence for some time.

"I left." She stared up at the ceiling. Sherlock didn't move, he wasn't sure if he was ready for this.

"I left and you didn't call. You said you would."

"So did you."

"Uh" she scoffed, "I did too. I called and told you I got there, just as you asked me to. Then I called twice more!" She was looking at him now.

"And that's it. I never heard from you again. Till now." He didn't turn to face her.

"You never even tried to call me Sherlock. I didn't want to bother you."

"Bother me? Emma all you do is bother me, it's hard to get you quiet usually." His tone relayed that he was bored, but she knew it was an act.

"Well, it's much harder to ignore someone across the world and still get your point across, easier when they are sitting across from you." She sat up now and hugged her knees to her chest. Sherlock had barely been able to study her yesterday. His apartment had been dark when she arrived. Now, with the overcast sky reflecting light into his room, he caught new scars on her arms and neck, fewer on her legs. He sat up and tilted his head to look at her properly. She was thinner than before, her hair was longer, and she looked tired. She turned her head to face him while resting it on the tops of her knees.

"I'm hungry." She looked at him expectantly. She knew he wasn't just 'looking' at her, he was really going through deductions in his head, trying to figure her out instead of asking questions. She didn't know if she should just let him continue, she wasn't ready to answer anything yet.

He kept staring, "What would you like me to do about it?"

"Feed me Sherlock, I'm wasting away!" She put the back of her hand to her forehead and dramatically threw herself back onto the pillows. He laughed and surprised himself, then let out a groan. A hangover, really? He grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose with his long fingers.

She looked over at him, concern written on her face. She pressed her hand to his forehead. He closed his eyes at the coolness of it. He felt her push against the bed and walk into the bathroom, he made to follow her. She ran a cloth under the water and stopped to see him in the bathroom doorway, "Stay in bed. I'm coming right back with this."

He didn't move. He didn't understand why is heart was racing, why it scared him to not be able to see her. Of course she wouldn't leave, not without telling him, right?

He came to when she pressed the cool cloth against his face. She reached around to put her other hand on his back and guide him out the door and back into bed.

She surprised him at university. While they were apart, she had written letters to him, never expecting one in return. She knew he read them though, his curiosity would always get the best of him in the end. She wrote of nothing in particular, how her classes were going and new people she had met. Occasionally slipping in that she missed him and would visit soon.

She was in his room when he came back from classes one day, "You of all people should have a 'pick free' lock Sherlock Holmes." She was sitting on his desk with her legs slightly swinging in front of her.

Sherlock shook his head and closed the door behind him. Emma knew that the social aspect of university was hard on him. She had known him for years and knew his quarks. What pushed her to visit, was a certain older brother.

Mycroft had visited campus a few weeks earlier, just for a few hours. In that time, his suspicions were confirmed. Without Emma by his side, Sherlock was isolated. She had been his bridge for years into relationships. Now, Sherlock needed her more than ever.

Throughout her visit he had shown her around campus, ate in the dining hall, and sat in the park. Wherever Emma was, she attracted attention. Sherlock was pretty well known for being blunt, but Emma made him different. People watched as she smiled and grabbed his arm, they saw how he stayed close to her, always watching her to see her reaction. They even saw him smile.

Later that night, Mycroft called Sherlock's phone. Sherlock glanced at is but didn't pick it up, Emma reached across him and answered it on the last ring, "Hey Mikey." Sherlock scowled at her. He didn't want his brother's nose in this any more than it already was, "Yes he is sitting right here, say hello Sherlock." She held out the phone to him, "Mycroft." Emma shook her head and pulled the phone back to her ear, she listened to him then finally said, "Of course, you should come over here for dinner soon, we would love to have you." Sherlock gave her his best death stare and she just smiled at him, "Ok, I'm gonna shower talk to him yourself. See you tomorrow Mycroft." She dropped the phone in Sherlock's lap, kissed him on the cheek while she climbed over him and off the bed into the bathroom.

He picked up the phone in his lap but didn't say anything. He could hear Mycroft pacing on the other end, "It was time for her to come home Sherlock. She did her time, I don't know everything she has been through but I've seen enough of it. She needs you. All of you. It may not seem like it, but she is fragile Sherlock. You came close to breaking her before, please do your best not to do it again."

Sherlock remained silent, trying to comprehend the meaning behind his brother's words. He heard the shower still running, "Thank you." Then he quickly hung up.

Sherlock couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He watched as she slept, ate, and spoke. He watched as she smiled and shook her head at him, and he watched as her face fell when she didn't think he was looking; he saw how exhausted she was and how tortuously she slept.

Her scars bothered him. The new scars. He was familiar with the one above her right knee in a half moon shape, he had touched the one on her neck slightly behind her left ear. But the new ones put a knot in his stomach. Encircling her wrists there were thin, faded lines. Her shirt had ridden up while she slept and he noticed a deeper one near her ribcage. These new ones were foreign, he didn't know their story.

Yet.

The next night Mycroft was paying them a visit came too quickly, he wasn't ready to share her, he never would be. He missed too much when he let her leave.

"Mycroft comes soon, are you planning on showering?" She pulled on new clothes and started putting her hair back in the mirror, staring at him as he rose from the bed behind her. He walked up to her and pressed his chest against her back, closed his eyes and fought the urge to kiss her. She leaned back and let her hair fall to the side before whispering, "I missed you."

They both sighed at the sound of Mycroft's walking stick on the door. He took his turn in the shower while she answered it. When Sherlock finished, he joined them in the sitting room. Emma was sitting in his chair, Mycroft across from her, both staring at the chess board. Sherlock laughed as he glanced at the board, "Mycroft, slipping are we?"

"He's humoring me Sherlock, go ahead Mikey, end it." She sat back and tossed her hands in the air. Mycroft made 3 moves then stood up from the table, "So have you two discussed everything? Of course not, or else Sherlock would have a more concerned look on his face and Emma would be willing me with her eyes to stay civil. Since you are both acting like tightly wound teenagers, you still have some things to discuss." He made no move to leave, and no indication of leading a conversation, he just smirked. Emma rolled her eyes, "Thank you for your deduction Mycroft, it isn't like everyone in the room wasn't already aware."

He didn't have relationships, they make you weak. He didn't have friends, they could be used against you. He had people he used for their skills or connections, that's it.

"Mother and Father will be in town next week, I expect you will stay? They expressed interest in seeing you again." Mycroft didn't look at Sherlock while he spoke to Emma, but he felt him shift next to him.

Emma smiled, "Of course, I haven't seen them in years."

Sherlock felt relieved. He was worried about her deciding when to leave, when it would be easiest to make her escape. Because that was what she had to do last time. He wouldn't change, he couldn't when she needed him.

But he had changed, hadn't he? John and Mary were his friends, along with Molly and Greg. He cared for Mrs. Hudson, he even enjoyed the company of The Woman. Maybe at first he used them, but not anymore. He truly cared for them.

Mycroft had left while he was lost in thought. He wasn't about to stay for take out, all he really wanted to accomplish during his visit was to stir the pot. Sherlock and Emma ate and had tea before he finally looked at her, "There you are." She was sitting across from him at the table smiling at him. Both their cups were empty.

"I've been thinking." He stated the obvious, he never stated the obvious.

"I know." She grinned at him, she knew he had been on autopilot, "Sherlock."

His name. The way she says it. It feels familiar.

He stared at her, his eyes not faltering from her gaze, he did't look away, "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to feel or what to say. I fell into this whole 'friendship relationship' thing, I don't understand the steps or the ritual or whatever it is I have to do next. With you." He was speaking quickly, he could feel his heart starting to pick up its pace. She was still sitting, still grinning.

"Sherlock, you don't have to have all the answers. We can figure this friendship out…"

"No." It was sharper than he anticipated. "I mean, I want it to be different."

It honestly surprised her. He had been close to her before she left. He had leaned against her, depended on her. They had even slept in the same bed on several occasions. But that's why she had left, because she needed more and he couldn't figure it out.

She got up then, walking to her left to step around the table, and paused. Was she really going to do this? Put herself out there again? She had no where to run this time. Mycroft had her discharged, it was the first thing he said as he strode through the door earlier in the evening. He didn't want to give her an easy out.

"Please, don't leave." He whispered as he dropped his head. He would understand her reasoning if she left. He knew that in John and Mary's relationship it was 'give and take' as they liked to put it. He couldn't give much, he didn't know how. Emma had always given more, she made up for his transgressions.

She looked at him surprised, "I'm not leaving." She then continued around the table to stand next to him and guided him out of his chair to stand in front of her. They had barely touched except for sleeping, since their first night. Her eyes were closed. Her hands ran from his wrists up to his shoulders and stopped when they met and cradled the back of his neck. His hands went to her hips, his thumbs resting beneath her shirt at the top of her waistband, skimming her flesh. He felt her breathe in then out as she opened her eyes. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to apologize for putting her in this situation. He wasn't sure that he could be as vulnerable as John and Mary were in their relationship, would his contribution be enough for Emma? Would it be enough for him?

"I'm staying. I want to stay, I've already resigned myself." She made it seem like it was a punishment at first, "And I know you want me more than just as a friend. I know that you are trying as hard as you can to make yourself see the benefits of being just a tad vulnerable. I don't know what has happened to make you see that a relationship like this could be worth it. But I'll take it. Because it's different than when I left, isn't it?" Her eyes were searching his, not pushing for an answer, but confirming one.

"I don't know what I can give you, if I can give you anything." He felt doubt seep into his stomach and tighten its grip, twisting as he tried to force himself to show her something worth staying for.

"Sherlock, I'm telling you that I'm not leaving. Whatever you can spare will be enough."

They hadn't fought. She didn't spring her confession on him. They had grown up together, went to separate universities but stayed close through the years, he knew when she needed something from him. Usually it was just confirmation that he knew she was there. But this time she was asking something more, something he didn't know he he had to give.

They had been sitting in his front room. She didn't live far from Baker Street and most of their time together was spent at his flat. She worked while he did his experiments. Occasionally the police would ring for a consult, but that happened rarely.

He had been lost in thought when he felt her shift next to him on the couch, "Sherlock, I have to tell you something that I think you already know."

"Then why tell me? That would be a waste for both of us."

"Not for me, not a waste for me." She had been nervous all day, for the past few days if she was honest. She had thought about the different scenarios of his reaction to her next confession, but she wasn't able to decide how she would ultimately feel with any of them.

"Sherlock. I am in love with you. I know you aren't going to know how to react to this, but I just needed you to know." She was sitting cross legged and facing him on the couch. She was right, he didn't know how to process this. He hadn't been privy to relationships like this in the past. She wasn't looking at him expectantly, she looked sad.

A few months later, she was gone.

And he was alone.


End file.
